


Still.

by Millabloop



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged up 17/18, Angst I guess, Boys talking 'bout feelings, Eddie's a barista and Craves Death, Fluff, Friends to "Enemies" to Lovers, Just another fic where Richie's beat up and Eddie fixes him up, M/M, Richie's passed out drunk and Eddie comes to the rescue, The losers split up and everyone's :/, They're sad, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 16:38:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15319719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millabloop/pseuds/Millabloop
Summary: Richie hates Eddie. He hasn’t always, but now there’s no debate, Eddie's sure of it. A couple of solid punches to Richie's face later and he's not so sure.





	Still.

Eddie didn’t like his job.

After a long day of grinding up coffee beans and mixing drinks, all Eddie wants is a warm cup of tea brewed to his preference and to cuddle up in his fluffy bed sheets, but of course, nothing can ever go right for him.

Feeling around each pocket for his car keys, Eddie stared anywhere but the face of Cute Coworker who just pushed past him into the employee entrance. In the dark of Derry’s autumn midnights, it wasn’t uncommon to see college students, hell, even high school students as well, wandering from restaurant to pub to bar on any given weekend night, but seeing one passed out was concerning to say the least.

Squinting from the other side of the street, Eddie could just barely make out the messy silhouette of what seemed to be a person slumped against a mighty oak, their chin resting on their chest, their head hung low. It was too dark to make out any specific details, let alone the identity of this person, especially from the point Eddie was standing. If only they collapsed a few feet to the right, then they’d be blanketed in the buzzing white of the closest lamp post.

Eddie’s breath hitched as his hands fumbled to grab the phone tucked away in his back pocket. He needed to stop thinking, he has to just act before something, anything, happens to this person.

The soft glow of his phone’s light paints his face as he scrolls frantically through his contacts. He needs to call somebody. Bill, maybe? No, he would panic more than Eddie himself. Ben and Mike would agree, but they live in the other side of town. Though Derry is small, there’s no way they could get here in time if something truly horrible happened to whoever was collapsed across the street.

Fuck it.

With a quick glance left then right, Eddie crosses his fingers and sprints across the street.

“Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead,” His voice is panicked, wound up tight and quiet. Never in his 17 years of living did Eddie Kaspbrak think he would encounter a situation with more potential danger than when his mother discovered he had failed his calculus final. Well, he just did.

His heart thudded in his ears, nervousness taking over every inch of his body. His crappy uniform dress shoes (which still don’t fit him) slid up and down over and over, edges rubbing blisters into his heels. When the soles of his shoes hit the dewy grass, Eddie dropped to his knees, hands racing to the slumped form before him.

Though it was dark, his proximity to the person allowed Eddie to make out a faded orange and black striped shirt messily tucked into torn black jeans. The quickness of Eddie’s heartbeat increased significantly as the head that previously hung over this person’s chest lolled back, revealing a very bloodied Richard Tozier.

“Oh _shit_ , Richie? Are you okay?” Eddie had gone into full panic mode. His tanned hands clasped Richie’s thin wrist, feeling for a pulse. He couldn’t trust his eyes, it was too dark to see if the boy was breathing, even if each intake was dramatic and labored. Eddie startled when Richie pulled away his arm, grumbling as he did so.

“It’s so fuckin’ cold man.” Richies voice was gravely, worn thin with each inhale. His dark eyebrows were drawn together, clumped into a messy mirage of misery. Blood, or at least what Eddie assumed to be blood, coated his left cheek, teetering over the edge of his quivering chin. Sure, seeing Richie’s face covered with blood was terrifying, but what shocked Eddie most were the clean lines of pale freckled skin drawn from eye to chin through fields of red.

Richie was crying.

Eddie was frozen, simply staring at this boy he’s supposed to hate so much, simply drowning in his vulnerability.

“Where’s my dumbass jacket.” Richie began tipping over, eyes still screwed shut as his back lost whatever grip is had on the tree’s rough surface. Eddie flinched, scrambling to catch the boy.

Arms hooked around Richie’s heavy body, Eddie began adjusting himself to better suit the both of their positions. He held onto his old friend like he was a newborn baby, head supported in the crook of his arm.

“Fuck.” A puff of air escaped Richie’s chapped lips, the distinct scent of alcohol wafting into the other boy’s face.

_Oh Richie, what happened to you?_

“Billy, give me my coat man.” Richie groaned. Eddie felt his chest squeeze. He didn’t know quite why.

“Where is it, Rich?” Eddie strained his eyes in the dark, hunting for a crumpled heap of clothing in the general vicinity. Eyes trained on what he assumed to be Richie’s jacket, Eddie stretched his arm as far as he could in it’s direction. He turned roughly, his hand scraping sidewalk pavement rather than the heap of fabric strewn far from Richie.

“Eds?” A shock of surprise struck the pit of Eddie’s stomach at the sound of Richie’s uncharacteristically soft voice. He looked down to find Richie’s eyes cracked open, staring at him with such intent and yearning. Just as he was about to respond, Richie interrupted him, his voice roaring. “Aw, fuck you, brain! You can’t trick me again.” Eddie’s heart panged. Trick? Again? His arms now limp, Eddie did nothing as Richie wiggled and rolled from his grip.

Richie stumbled to his feet, still far too disoriented to go anywhere or do anything.

“Billy, drive me back to Maggie’s. Please.” He sounded so vulnerable, nearly scared, his soft features illuminated only by the quiet roads of Derry. So much has changed about him, Eddie thought, but there’s no way he’s letting him go back to a house of potential harm, especially not covered in blood that might not even be his own.

Surveying his increasingly limited options, Eddie concluded there was no other choice. He had to take him home. No matter how much Richie hated him now, Eddie couldn’t let anything happen his old friend.

“C’mon, Rich, let’s go.” Eddie fumbled up from his knees, ignoring the burning sensation that had begun to spread across his palm. He swept Richie’s jacket into his arms on the way up, breathing in the scent of cigarettes and earthy cologne -- a smell Eddie didn’t find that great, but wouldn’t complain if he could smell if forever.

Richie sauntered over, each step dramatic and a fight to remain upright.

“Haha, you’re all blurry, Billiam. Did you get smaller?” Richie slumped his arm across Eddie’s shoulders. The shorter teen huffed, securing one arm around Richie’s waist and the other clasped to both the arm he was being nearly choked with and the arm of the jacket. Richie nuzzled his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck, resulting in a very stiff Eddie and a very giggly Richie.

“You smell like coffee. Love it.” Richie grumbled with a heavy inhale. Eddie quickly shook it off and set his mind back to the mission at hand.

Hauling to two of them back across the traffic void street, Eddie couldn’t help but groan in frustration; as skinny as he looks, Richie is heavy as hell.

With his tiny silver hand-me-down car in view, the speed of Eddie’s steps immediately increased, along with the frequency of Richie’s groans of protest.

Carefully removing Richie’s arm from his shoulders, Eddie leaned the tall boy against the hood of his car, keeping an eye on him as he fished his car keys of of his pocket. The click of the doors unlocking sounded and Richie immediately rolled toward a door, mumbling incoherently. Panicked _op, op, op_ noises filed out of Eddie’s mouth as he steadied Richie, leading him to the back door and helping him into the car.

Attempting to sit Richie up, Eddie motioned for the seat belt, which Rich avidly denied to the point of throwing himself across the seats. With a dramatized sigh, Eddie slammed the door and threw open the driver seat door, settling himself into the driver’s seat. He glanced to the back seat, worry sewn into his brow. He might be breaking a law, but it’s only really fast and Richie’s knock out drunk so it’s gotta be okay? Right?

The drive home was quiet, the only noise Richie’s occasional drunk mumblings and groans when Eddie “accidentally” hit a couple of potholes.

Soon Eddie was pulled into his driveway, thanking God his Mom was visiting his uncle upstate. If he came home with an ex-best friend covered in blood, who knows what Sonia would do to him. Situated similarly as their pursuit across the street, the pair of teens stumbled their way into the front door.

“If you got blood all over my car, I swear to God, Richard,” Eddie grumbled, shoving his key into the front door’s lock. Finally getting up to the entrance, Eddie led Richie through the house, straight toward to the bathroom, only detouring to toss Eddie’s keys and Richie’s jacket on the dining room table.

“Stay here, Rich. I’m getting a first aid kit and something to sober you up. Stay. Do. Not. Wander.” An aggressive poke to the chest accompanied the last batch of words. He can barely deal with a drunk is his bathroom, he absolutely cannot deal with a drunk stumbling around his house and breaking anything.

Praying Richie wouldn’t move, Eddie sprinted to his mother’s room, digging a mostly full first aid kit from the collection in her closet.

Gathering his breath, he glanced around for anything that could sober up the boy down the hall. Nothing but time, really, but he could try a strong cup of coffee, along with a big glass of water and some ibuprofen. On a last minute blink of insight, he dropped to the drawer of his dad’s old clothes his mother kept. Guiltily he pulled out a huge black t-shirt and a pair of long flannel pajama pants, mumbling forgiveness as he blindly felt of a pair of boxers.

He rushed to the bathroom, pushing open the door a quickly as he could, only to find Richie bottomless -- not completely, thank the heavens, but no pants for fucks sake -- with his head under the bathtub faucet, mouth open. Eddie shrieked, flinging his hands in front of his eyes.

“Oh, Jesus. Richard! What the hell! Put pants on. Right now! What are you doing?” He was edging on a breakdown, was he dealing with a three year old?

“Thirsty.” The simple response infuriated Eddie.

“I could have gotten you a glass of water!” Eddie removed his hands from his face and reached down for Richie’s pants, flinging them at him with all the force he possibly could. “Sit on the goddamn counter so I can fix you or you’re sleeping on the kitchen floor.” He hissed through gritted teeth. Years of pent up anger began releasing itself slowly.

Richie straightened himself, shaking his now soaking shirt. Much to Eddie’s surprise, the dry blood still remained all over him, only washed off around his mouth. The faucet still roared behind Richie, so Eddie pushed him aside and slammed his palm on the dial with all his force.

“Get up before I-”

“You’re actually Eddie?” Richie interrupted, in typical fashion.

“Uh, yeah.”

“My brain’s not fucking with me?”

“No. Please, Rich, just let me help you right now.” Richie seemed surprised, but obeyed, the chaotic body language he previously held suddenly diminished. He looked like a kicked puppy, which twisted Eddie’s heart in way too many ways.

“Put these on, they’re warm and barely used,” He said, shoving the pile of clothes in Richie’s direction. “I’ll be in the kitchen, only for a minute, change and sit on the counter ‘till I come back in.” Richie nodded, holding the clothes a respectable distance from his very bloody, very wet clothes.

Eddie quickly prepared the coffee maker, scooping Trader Joe’s Columbia blend into the machine and allowing it to brew. Back to the bathroom he went.

Now seated on the granite countertop, Richie placed his hands in his lap, fiddling with his thumbs. Eddie clicked open the first aid kit, pushing materials to the side in search of the good cotton pads. He pulled them out and stopped the sink from draining, then filled it with warm water and a few pumps of hand soap. He tried to ignore the constant buzz of Richie’s eyes observing each sway of his hands.

“This is just to wipe off the blood. It won’t hurt or anything.” Eddie spoke in a hushed tone, gesturing to the sink, now filled a fair amount. Carefully as he possibly could, Eddie pulled Richie’s glasses off his face, folding them and setting them on the other side of the countertop.

Dipping a cotton pad into the soapy mixture, Eddie quietly suggested the other boy close his eyes. Obeying, Richie’s eyes fluttered, closing in a way that stole the breath from Eddie’s lungs. Pretty boy. Clearing his throat and mind, Eddie began swiping away the red.

“What happened? You reek of alcohol and you’re covered blood.” Eddie tossed a fifth blood soaked cotton pad into the trash bin and grabbed for a fresh one.

“I mean, I guess I’m just, you know, lost in the sauce.” Richie shrugged. Eddie’s hand stilled before resuming the constant wiping motion.

“Fuck you. I’m being serious.” The blood now vacant from Richie’s face, Eddie began gently carding his hands through Richie’s hair, feeling for any open wounds other than the various cuts dragged all across his face. Nothing but soft tangled curls which he gladly continued “searching” through.  
“Fine. A fight. Dickhead Duke from the hockey team called y- somebody who shall remain anymous-”

“Anonymous.” Eddie’s eyes remained forward, ignoring feeling of Richie watching him. He wasn’t just looking at him, he was analyzing him.

“Yeah, he called them a slut and a hoe and said all this absolute bullshit and it just, I don’t fucking know, set me off.” Richie’s raspy slur of words set Eddie’s heart off on a wild goose chase. He couldn’t take it anymore, his eyes dropped to meet Richie’s. He pretended to ignore Richie’s hand creeping up to grab his wrist. “He fucked me up bad.” His hand dropped back into his lap.

“I can see.” Eddie voice barely reached a whisper, as he was so struck by everything about Richie, especially everything he forced himself to forget. Now wiped clean of blood, Richie’s face was very visibly littered with bruises and wounds. His eyes lingered, taking in the sharp edge of cheekbones and warmth of dark chocolate eyes. Fuck, how he’d missed it, these moments of heart wrenching intimacy.

Before he could do anything, Eddie cleared his throat and turned away.

“Are you just drunk and bloody or is anything else wrong with you?” Eddie asked, pulling out some Q-Tips and a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

“My ego’s a little bruised, if that counts.” A grin spread across Richie’s face, but immediately dropped when he winced, hand raising to press a finger against his split lip.

“Definitely not. This is gonna sting a little.” As gently as he could, Eddie wiped a soaked Q-Tip over each wound, muttering apologies as Richie hissed through clenched teeth.

Now clean and disinfected, Richie hopped off the counter, swaying for a moment before bending down and scooping up his dirty clothes.

“I’m brewing some coffee, c’mon.” Eddie nodded his head toward the door, snapping the first aid kit closed and tucking it under his arm. Richie trailed behind Eddie, eyes lingering on each detail of the house.

“This place is exactly the same.” He sighed wistfully, reminiscing on memories of summer sun and nostalgic happiness. Eddie huffed, glancing back at Richie.

“A good thing?” He asked jokingly.

“A great thing.” Richie tucked himself into a chair near the window. He watched quietly as Eddie pulled two mugs from a cupboard.

“Why do you keep watching me?” Eddie questioned with a laugh, brushing off the slight discomfort.

“This doesn’t feel real.” Richie spoke slowly, each word turned over and processed before being spoken. Eddie’s robotic motion of coffee making delayed for just a moment before resuming.  
“Of course it doesn’t, you’re drunk.”

“No. It’s because we’re talking, like, actually talking and not fighting or anything.” Eddie hated how true it was, he hated that they hated each other for the past few years.

“I guess so. It just feels… familiar, to me. You take your coffee with creamer only, right?” He only remembered this from a 7th grade sleepover, in which the morning after Richie warmed up a cup of creamer and then poured about a tablespoon of coffee to the mug. To say the least, the loser’s club refused to let it down for about a month even though they weren’t much better.

“Yeah, thanks.” Richie gladly accepted the cup Eddie handed him, along with the tall glass of water and two pills. He happily downed the water and pills, knowing the hangover will definitely suck. He hugged the mug to his chest, blowing cool air on the surface before gulping down a mouthful. Eddie poured boiled water into his own mug, searching through the cabinets for his stash of good tea bags. Richie held the cup in his lap, hesitating before speaking again. “Why are you doing this?”

“What, helping you?” Eddie refused to look at Richie in this moment, instead hyper-focusing on the orange seeping through the tea bag into the water. He’d definitely look vulnerable, and after an evening of that look, Eddie wasn’t sure he could take another one without breaking.

“Yeah, I’ve been nothing but a douche to you. Why don’t you hate me?” He wasn’t wrong. Since the loser’s club split up, Richie hasn’t exactly been pleasant to Eddie.

“I don’t know, I guess a part of me still feels responsible for your idiocy. Besides, I’m not sure I could ever hate you.” He offered Richie a closed mouth smile, one which Richie guiltily returned. “Why _were_ you a douche to me, anyways?”

“Sober me would never say this, but to hell with him.” Richie let out a shaky laugh and set his mug on the table, wiping his palms on his thighs. “I was scared that, shit, this is making me nervous. I was scared that if I didn’t find a way to hate you, I wouldn’t find a way to get over you. I loved you so fuckin’ much and with everyone split up I knew you’d hate me and I didn’t want to be that asshole pining after someone who doesn’t like him back.” Eddie immediately abandoned his tea, turning to face Richie.

“You loved me?” He took a tentative step in Richie’s direction, testing the waters. Richie’s head was craned to look Eddie in the eyes, the expression on his face a messy mix of unsure emotions.

“I love you. Still.” Richie was up from his seat, meeting Eddie halfway and gently cupping his face in his hands. Eddie melted.

“If you’re fucking with me I’m going to kill you.”

“Fuck, Eds, I swear to whatever’s up there that I’m not.” Richie insured, his thumb ghosting across Eddie’s bottom lip. Each point of contact buzzed with electricity.

“Prove it.” He whispered, eyes half-lidded.

Cautiously, Richie closed the gap between them, laying a soft kiss on Eddie’s lips. Nothing more than a middle school level kiss, but more than enough proof for Eddie. Arms circled around Richie’s waist, Eddie leaned up, carefully aiming for the corner of his mouth not occupied by a split lip. Sparks exploded in his chest.

Eddie gingerly pulled apart, a small smile spread across his face.

“You’re drunk.” He stated, tugging on Richie’s T-shirt.

“And you’re cute.” Richie grinned, pulling him in for another kiss. Eddie laughed through closed lips and pulled away, smiling from ear to ear.

“And you’re _drunk_. I’m putting you to bed.” Richie giggled, opening his mouth to speak. “No dirty jokes, I can’t deal with you right now.” With Eddie leading and acting as a support beam, they shuffled to the living room, Richie collapsing onto the couch, smiling up at Eddie.

“I’m not tired, you just gave me coffee.” He complained, a smile still wide across his face.

“Just, try to sleep, _I_ need to sleep, so do you.” Eddie pulled a blanket from the back of his mother’s TV watching chair, running his hands across the soft fabric.

“But really though, Eddie, thank you. And I really am so sorry.” Richie brought his knees to his chest, hugging them as Eddie fluffed out a blanket and tucked it over him.

“For what?” Eddie lowered himself to the floor, crossing his legs and staring into Richie’s eyes.

“For everything. I missed you. So much.”

“I missed you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then everyone makes up and the losers are friends again and everyone loves everyone No Debate My Story My Rules


End file.
